


Humanity

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, Paranoia, Trick or Treat 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-28 01:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: MacReady and the pit fighter were sent to check out one of the more remote settlements, only to find the place overrun by Synths.  After dealing with that, hunkering down for the night, they try not to think too hard over the fact that Synths can be anyone.Anyone.





	Humanity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/gifts).

She checked over her shotgun for what must’ve been the fifth time since they hunkered down. Open the breach, make sure there were two shells, close the breach. On occasion, she’d glance out at the outpost, still pouring plumes of smoke into the sky. But mostly she just shivered, running her hands over her bare shoulders; maybe they could’ve salvaged a blanket from the wreckage, but that hadn’t occurred to them while the shooting was going on. She had made sure to grab a half-full bottle of whiskey, although neither of them had touched it.

He wasn’t too cold, wore long sleeves and layers after all. He leaned back, wrapped in his coat, his hat pulled down low over his eyes. One hand on his chest, the other at his side; right by the pistol he had in a hip holster. He could draw that faster than it’d take to get his rifle. In case of raiders. Or Super Mutants. Or more Synths.

In whatever form they might take.

A mutual friend, ‘the General’ as she was called nowadays, had asked the two of them to check this little ramshackle outpost in the shadow of an overpass—they hadn’t heard from it in a few days. They found a single survivor and a half-dozen synths. She charged in maniacally blasting the robots apart with her shotgun with wild abandon, while he stayed at a distance. 

Things were quiet when she waved him over by that one survivor, a teenage girl. Or what looked like it. Because as trudged down one hill and up another, a final shot rang out. He arrived to her standing over that girl, picking at the hole the shotgun had punched in her chest. IN that inexplicable accent of hers, she said “Girl drew on me.”

The white, plastic laser pistol she handed him was Institute tech, no doubt. They autopsied her, sort of. “A trick I had learned” she said, taking a knife to the sternum. Shredded by buckshot, she pulled out pieces of plastic and wiring, in between the actual organs. They _were _real organs, because he’d been around enough death to know that coppery scent, and aside from the obviously synthetic components, everything looked real.

They made a perfunctory search, couldn’t figure out _why _the Institute decided to attack this place. He had seen the synth before—the one that looked like a girl rather than a living mannequin. She might’ve been a copy even then. He had no way of knowing.

They gathered up a few journals, things to take back that hopefully the General, or Preston, Nick Valentine, or Piper, or someone who thought more and shot less than either of them could figure out. By the time they had ransacked the already-ransacked settlement, it was growing dark. Neither wanted to camp there—she might’ve been up to evict a corpse from its bed maybe, and he’d done it before, but the Institute could attack again.

So they settled up in the shadow of an overpass, given cover by the rubble. They’d go to sleep, then in the morning head South, back to a larger settlement. One where they could give the General the information. And hopefully be sent to kill some mirelurks or something less creepy than this bullshit.

In they morning they’d head out.

Tonight, he could tell he wouldn’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.

He recognized that girl, the one Cait had shot. She seemed normal enough. 

He looked at Cait, grumpily curled up around her shotgun. How much did he know about her? The Synths could fool family after all, but it’d be much easier to replace someone without any close friends. And Cait? He’d heard it second hand. She had killed her own parents, not that he could blame her, since they sold her into slavery. That was the story. So nobody could ask her parents about her… then again, the only person who knew what happened to her parents was her.

“I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’.” She looked at him, brushing matted strands of unkempt red out of her eyeline. They set out, she was playful, little flirtatious. A mix between spoiling for a fight and drink, and annoyed at a babysitting job checking in on settlers. “You’re not from the Commonwealth.”

“And?” He straightened, scowling. He knew where this was going and did not like it at all.

“Left yer son behind in the Capitol.” She was back to looking down at her shotgun, studying a crack in the stock she got caving in a Synth’s face.

“Duncan has…” His son was _sick_. He was here, doing mercenary work, to pay for treatment, and got tangled up in all of this business because at the end of the day, he owed the General for getting the Gunners of his back. 

“Just thinking, we just have your word about that son. Otherwise nobody can say anything about you before you came to the Commonwealth.” He didn’t make a move, just waited for her to make one as she looked at him. She wasn’t angry… he’d seen her angry, and that was intimidating. Here, she was very calm. Almost mechanically stating facts.

“And you conveniently have dead parents, no friends, and no past… other than what you told the boss, up until you headlined the Combat Zone” He bit his tongue to prevent pointing out cage fighter was an awfully big career shift from a former slave. No matter how many drugs she was on at the time. “So neither of us can prove who we are beyond knowing the General.”

She looked pensive for a moment, or maybe it was just the way the shadows framed her pale face… she never seemed to tan or burn when running around beneath the hot sun. 

“’Course, it wouldn’t matter.” Cait shrugged. “People have been killed by synths copying their best friends. Siblings, husbands, wives. It’s almost why even bother copying a couple fucked-up wasteland mercs?”

The most annoying thing was everything he could throw in her face, she could twist to throw back in his. It was odd of a selfish, borderline-suicidal ex-junkie brawler to develop the kind of loyalty she had for the General—though it was just as odd for a mercenary to pay back what he had initially charged solely out of loyalty. He had his reasons—she had bailed his ass out of a fire. So did Cait.

She shifted, and his hand drifted to the grip of his pistol, before relaxing when she held up the bottle of whiskey. She removed the stop and took a swing. Nonchalantly, he said “Warmer?”

She handed the bottle to him and he took a sip, smaller than hers. Yeah, it _burned _on the way down. Might actually make up for her not bothering to dress for the weather. Wasn’t enough to get either of them drunk if they split it. She held out her hand, and he returned the bottle. She drank without taking her eyes off him. “Hm. Not gonna last long between us.”

He shrugged. “If you want to look for another, be my guest.”

“This is fine.” She shrugged back. Even in the dark, heading down hill, facing away from him, she’d probably present a good firing solution for a sniper. If she thought he would shoot her in the back. After a very long pause, she handed the bottle back. “So… what are we gonna do?”

He took another small sip. They were going to head out in the morning. Heading out in the middle of the night was too dangerous. Tomorrow they’d head back, get some shuteye, and forget the ridiculous suspicions they were having right now. 

Assuming they didn’t have any surprises for the other.

He handed the bottle back to Cait, who gave a small little smile without any hint of levity. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged and said “Why don’t we just wait here for a little while. See what happens”.

**Author's Note:**

> To the requestor, in your letter, you mentioned "sleep won't come tonight" and "oh my god what is this thing, because it's not what it's trying to look like" as trick ideas. I went with something really grounded the kind of paranoia Fallout 4 kinda hinted at but only rarely delivered on regarding the Synths. And on that note, since we have a character whose a shout out to _The Thing_, I couldn't resist ending the fic with a shout out to _The Thing_. Hopefully this was alright for you.


End file.
